


Ataraxia

by feathers_n_silk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, SKAM (Netherlands), WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Graphic Descriptions of Mental Illness, M/M, Mental Illness, Other, Past Child Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Slightly slow burn, gryffindor jens stoffels, nightmares], ravenclaw robbe ijzermans, sander being sander, seeker robbe ijzermans, slytherin lucas vdh, slytherin sander driesen, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 08:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22073068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_n_silk/pseuds/feathers_n_silk
Summary: Ataraxia - a state of freedom from emotional instability, anxiety ; tranquility.The entire stadium erupted into chaos as did Sander’s heart because gliding smoothly on his firebolt, one hand clutching the still fluttering snitch and the other fisted towards the sky, Robbe looked like he could command the heavens to fall down on the very pitch that screamed his name.
Relationships: Jens Stoffels/Lucas van der Heijden, Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans, Yasmina Ait Omar/Noor Bauwens
Comments: 26
Kudos: 220





	1. On this night, in this light

Staring down the astronomy tower, he sighed out another cloud of smoke. The voices in his head had been way too loud that day, all consuming and he had been feeling uneasy, the kind that made him anxious, hands tapping constantly on his thighs. He had been craving and craving for something he had no name for. Britt was waiting for him probably, back in the dungeons. A part of him longed for human touch, longed to feel the softness of her skin, longed for her touch, however poisoned it may be. It was hard to breathe around her, every inhale felt like it was weighed down by her sighs of disappointment. Maybe it was a bit silly of him to be aware of his breathing around someone, but that's just the way he was.  
He contemplated on moving from the spot, he was way too keyed in to be sitting still anyways but the nicotine was making him a little sluggish and he wondered if it was the same for everyone.

'Too curious for his own good', he could hear his father's sneering voice in his head and he wanted to crawl down a hole so deep that he can never be seen again.

Another drag of cigarette and he exhales up towards the sky. Most days sitting here he felt like he owned the world, the king of the world, Sander Driesen, ha, it had a nice ring to it. A wry smirk made its way on his face.And it was fitting wasn't it? The Prince of Slytherin's natural order of succession should be The King of Somewhere, right? Snorting at his own wildly oscillating thoughts he picked up his sketchbook- the real reason he always came up here.

He had lost count of the amount of times he had sketched the view from up there. Picking up the charcoal, the cigarette hanging from his lips, hands ready to sketch, he looked up just in time to see blue robes glinting in the moonlight just a couple of feet away from him.

His first instinct was to pack everything up and run, until he remembered that he was a prefect and really even he wasn't one nobody would ever dare to mess with him.

Shaking his head at himself, he contemplated on calling out the kid who was out flying this late in a weather where one could barely feel their fingers even with a plethora of warming charms. The kid looked like a quidditch player and honestly he should be beckoning them over and docking points off them. They seemed to be a Ravenclaw, judging by the blue robes and maybe he should simply give the player detention for a week, maybe then Slytherin would stand a chance at winning the match.

Smirking to himself he was just about to call out them when they flipped the broom and were free falling towards the ground.  
Fuck. Sander quickly reached for his wand intending on ' _aresto momentum'-_ ing the blithering idiot who was about to break their neck. Honestly. Jocks were so fucking stupid.

Before he could cast the spell though, the dunderhead flipped back and continued flying like he didn't just give Sander a fucking heart attack.  
Merlin, he fucking loathed these quidditch players.

The player turned, facing the tower and Sander felt his entire world coming to a halt.

You know the moment, the moment when you look at someone and your racing heart comes to a halt, your thoughts stop, your breathing slows down and everything comes to a standstill. And the next breath you take in everything suddenly becomes sharper, brighter, more vivid, like an explosion of colours on a wall.  
It was _that_ moment for Sander. Because the stupid jock was _him_. Merlin, Sander always thought that he looked like an angel but right there, in that moment, with moonlight shining on him just right, he looked otherworldly.

Because gliding smoothly on a broom, one hand raking through his hair was Robbe Ijzermans, the Ravenclaw's star seeker. Probably the best seeker to ever grace the school after Harry bloody Potter graduated. The reason why Slytherin hadn't won a single quidditch cup in the past four years.

Another smooth turn and their eyes met from across the grounds. Sander felt shivers run down his spine and he felt like he was about to cry because he was so so overwhelmed. His black and white world suddenly was overwhelmingly colourful and he didn't know what to do with himself.

And before he knew it the angel was turning around and was out of sight.

Sander gently lowered himself to a sitting position, his head empty and his heart overwhelmingly full as he started to sketch an angel in the moonlight.


	2. Of Gods clad in blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist falls head over heels for the jock in blue.

Dreams. What even were dreams? Were they forgotten memories, or were they a glimpse into the future? Humans were inherently so averse to chaos and disorder, that they had classified even basic phenomenons. Like dreams. There were good dreams, there were bad dreams, then there were prophetic dreams, dreams you dreamed with your eyes wide open.

Sander was familiar with the bad dreams. The nightmares. Of his father’s loud screams, of those cold storage rooms, of those dark dungeons he walked through everyday, of distorted voices calling out to him, reaching towards him, hisses of creatures unknown, languages only he understood, cold eyes with slit pupils, but most of all Sander dreamt of falling. Falling from the astronomy tower, falling from the Driesen manor’s roof, falling, always falling with voices chasing him to his inevitable death.

Maybe that’s why he hated sleeping. Sleeping for people was an escape from the harsh reality of life, but for Sander who spent most of his time fighting the voices in his head, sleeping was another prison. Maybe that’s why he always had been obsessed with death. Eternal rest, peace at long last, his head, always so loud, finally quiet. Because for as long as Sander could remember his head had been a never ending death metal concert.

But that night, in the harsh cold of mid November, standing atop the astronomy tower, his mind had gone quiet. For the first time in his entire life, Sander felt at peace. Drawing had been his escape, but drawing Robbe on his firebolt, with his blue quidditch robes billowing in the chilly wind, the moonlight kissing his face just right. Fuck. If angels existed, they would’ve had nothing on Robbe.

A sharp nudge to his side had Sander flinching out of his thoughts.

“You do realize that bruising someone intentionally counts as abuse, right?”, he glared at his evil incarnate cousin and best friend, Lucas.

“And you do realize that staring into the distance without blinking gives you a permanent creep card, right?”

Flushing, Sander resorted to glaring at him instead. “And for fuck’s sake please ask your snake to sleep in your bed, she nearly choked me to death today.”, he rolled his eyes. “My snake has a _name_ , **_mellilla_** , and it is not my fault that she adores you!”

“Who the fuck even names their pet **_snake_** , _little honey_? No. Don’t even answer that. So, are we smoking grass behind that little place you found after third period?”

Sander’s confusion must’ve been obvious because Lucas was rolling his eyes again and reminding him, as if it physically pained him to do so, of the slytherin vs ravenclaw quidditch match to be held that afternoon.

“I think that we should attend today’s match, scare the nerds into submission” Sander may be bad at basic wizarding protocols, but he was an expert liar, at least that’s what he liked to think, because Lucas’ eyes were narrowing in suspicion, and Sander was scrambling to gather his belongings, bidding his goodbyes and rushing out of the great hall. Because a suspicious Lucas meant danger and Sander had enough self preservation skills to remove himself from the situation.

_____________

The crowd was screaming and Sander was suddenly acutely aware of the reason why he never attended the quidditch matches. Crowds. He hated crowds. As soon as he made way to the stands, the whispering around got louder and louder. It took everything in his power to not double over and shut his ears. He knew why the murmuring had risen to a fever pitch, of course he knew. He hadn’t attended a single quidditch game in the past three years, and all of a sudden he was in the slytherin stands supporting a team he gave no flying fucks about. Of course the people would talk. And if someone were to ask him, read Lucas because no one else had enough guts to ask him a direct question, he would simply feign ignorance and repeat what he’d said that morning.

He knew that him showing up to the game was enough to raise the slytherin team’s morale. He just hoped that it wasn’t raised enough that they ended up winning the game. Because he was here to see _**his angel** _win.

He could see Lucas making his way to the stands, and thank fuck, the players had started entering the field because he wasn’t ready to explain his sudden interest in quidditch to him.

The screams around him were deafening and he could feel Lucas cringing beside him. A smirk made way on his face, because even though he was as uncomfortable as Lucas, Sander could still enjoy the sour expression on his face.

He didn’t have to look to know that Lucas was glaring at him, and sure enough he was leaning in and murmuring, “I’m onto you Driesen and I swear to fucking god I _will_ kill you if the reason of this voluntary torture isn’t good enough.”

Sander merely rolled his eyes despite wincing at the upcoming investigation inwardly.

The slytherins were the first to enter the field, the kids around him crying out their support. The normally quiet slytherins never shied away from cheering for their team. The players were pumping fists in the sky, turned towards their house’s stand, as if they hadn’t consecutively lost all of their matches against ravenclaw for the past four years. The team captain, a seventh year, like him was the first to notice him in the stands, and he was nodding towards him and Sander could feel the smugness spreading like wildfire in his bloodstream. The cheering raised to a higher octane and he knew he would have to take a potion for the impending headache forming against his temples.

The ravenclaws entered and the entire stadium collectively lost its shit, the screams so loud, they could raise the dead.

But Sander couldn’t hear anything except the loud rhythm of his own beating in his chest. He couldn’t see anything except the angel clad in blue. An eagle clasping his robes together, hands clutching his firebolt, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Caramel brown curls, falling over his forehead. Russet brown eyes narrowed in concentration, cheekbones prominent as his jaw clenched in anticipation. He looked like Ares ready for battle.

Merlin. Sander was _**fucked**_.

Robbe was nothing but a blue blur in the air and Sander didn’t know who was scoring, who was winning. He couldn’t even make out the commentary, the world was just one unending static. All of his energy concentrated on-

“And the snitch has been spotted, there goes our little star seeker racing towards it on a breakneck speed-"

All of a sudden the world was loud again and Sander’s heart was in his throat, fingers constantly pinching the skin between his thumb and index finger, he was on the edge of his seat in anticipation as Robbe chased down the snitch.

The slytherin seeker was right behind him, trying to kick Robbe off his broom and Sander could feel the cry of horror ripping from his throat as Robbe lost his balance.

He felt a sense of deja vu wash over him as he pulled his wand, and just like last night, Robbe was regaining his balance without even breaking his speed. Sander was shaking by the time Robbe’s fist clenched around that stupid fluttery gold ball.

The entire stadium erupted into chaos as did Sander’s heart because gliding smoothly on his firebolt, one hand clutching the still fluttering snitch and the other fisted towards the sky, Robbe looked like he could command the heavens to fall down on the very pitch that screamed his name.

And Sander? Sander knew he would never dream the same again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments are highly appreciated.  
> Find me on tumblr: @feathers-n-silk


	3. Moon River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Two drifters, off to see the world  
> There's such a lot of world to see  
> We're after that same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend  
> My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and summary from the song Moon River by Andy Williams.

Moon had always held a special place in his heart. Late nights on his broom, the wind blowing around him with nobody but the moon to keep him company. The moon had always been a silent spectator of his life. Even when he was a child, he’d beg his mother to take him to the roof of their house. He liked listening to old wizard’s tales, his head in his mum’s lap and her fingers running through his hair, the low breeze blowing on their roof lulling him to sleep. 

He always felt like he could go higher, higher and higher until he could touch the moon. He wanted to know what it felt like to be so high up that the rest of the world was nothing but mere dots on the canvas of the universe.

Flying, was bittersweet for the very reason. He could reach enough to be in the sky but not enough that he could touch it too.

He liked flying at night because there was nobody else but him. Just him and his firebolt against the world. 

He could shed off his defenses in the dark, he could stop keeping up those pretenses that bound him to the earth. He liked the freedom that the night offered. The freedom to accept everything that he denied under the harsh sun. 

________________

Nothing could ever beat the thrill of chasing a snitch through the air. Going so fast that the world was a blur, the stadium screaming his name as his fist curled around the fluttering ball of joy. Nothing could ever beat the thrill of being hoisted on his teammates shoulders as he lifted the quidditch cup in the air. Despite the fact that Robbe had been a happy child, so much so that his mum and Jens had dubbed him a hufflepuff, tch as if, he knew that nothing would ever beat the euphoria he’d felt when he’d caught the snitch in his very first match as a second year. And Robbe knew that he was a great seeker not just a good one. A good seeker caught the snitch, but a great seeker caught the snitch at the correct time. Quidditch wasn’t just flying and hitting bludgers or catching snitches, quidditch was an art of war and strategizing and Robbe was a grandmaster among novices.

There was a reason Ravens hadn’t lost a single match ever since he became the captain.

So when Jens had asked him to sit out the next match he’d simply ignored him and had gone back to reading his alchemy textbook.

But of course when had it ever deterred the gryffindor from spewing his bullshit, “I _saw_ him Robbe, he’s going to disfigure you. Permanently. Or worse he could avada kedavra you and nobody would even know!”

“ Okay. okay. Let’s assume that he is bent on hurting me, which is an extremely outrageous assumption, even for you, why now? There is _absolutely_ no reason for him to hurt me. Jens. He doesn’t even like quidditch!”

“Everybody saw him point his wand towards you, Robbe. And as for reasons, its his last year here, maybe he wants to see his house lift the cup. I won’t push it past these snakes”, Moyo jumped in, dropping his books loudly on the table, earning them a glare and a loud shh from Madam Pince. 

“And didn’t you see him that night when you went out to fly? He is following you, dude! He keeps staring at you during meals, and he’s been eating his breakfast in the hall, which he never does. I’m telling you Robbe sit this match out, your team can win without you. And even if hufflepuffs win it wouldn’t even matter to your team, your house is already in the lead”. Jens ‘explained’ his ‘sound reasoning’.

“Moyo stop fucking nodding your head like an idiot, you’re a part of the team and Jens calm the fuck down, nothing’s going to happen to me, okay? And losing a match may not matter to my teammates but it _matters to me_.” Robbe slammed his book shut and stomped away from the two idiots.

He didn’t get why they were making a big deal out of some stupid rumor. Yeah sure, Sander prince of slytherin Driesen pointing his wand during a game was suspicious as fuck but that did not mean he wanted to hurt Robbe. And no, robbe definitely wasn’t downplaying the danger because he liked the idea of being stared at by Sander. Definitely not, thank you very much.

There were many reasons Robbe could list which could prove his point that, Sander did not in fact want to hurt him. The first and foremost being he was convinced that the bleached blonde had no idea that Robbe even existed. Which led him to the second point that everybody knew that Sander thought that quidditch was beneath him. There was no fucking way in hell that Sander would waste his time and energy to take out a quidditch player. And the last point was that Robbe had strong instincts, and they hadn’t pointed towards fear whenever he had been in Sander’s vicinity (which admittedly he had been way too less in for him to derive that conclusion).

Lost in his thoughts and having absolutely no clue of his surroundings he rammed straight into a rock solid wall of - a human?

Hands reached out to steady him and Robbe wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. Some seeker he was with absolutely no reflexes off the pitch. He looked up to apologize only for all of his coherent thoughts and words to escape him, because staring down at him were the most beautiful pair of eyes he’d ever seen. They were green with flecks of blue shining like a sunlit ocean of sorrow. There was unfathomable pain hidden in those eyes. In all of his years Robbe had never seen such sad eyes. But then like a flipped switch, the eyes were lighting up with mischief 

**_“I don’t mind standing all day holding you like this,_ angel _, but we’re blocking the traffic”_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Comments are highly appreciated :))  
> Find me on tumblr: @feathers-n-silk


	4. Of Silver Princes with sad eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were so close, so impossibly close, that if he leaned up a little their lips would brush and that thought sent another spike of heat through his gut. The world had ceased to exist, just them and the rhythm of his own beating heart. 

**_His eyes_** were green like molten jade, with a spark of the ocean in them. Robbe felt like he was drowning in them, like he was lost in them, like he was a philosopher in search of the meaning of life and those eyes held all the secrets of the universe. But his eyes held a certain melancholy in them, as if all the secrets of the universe were sad. That the end was the only means to hold onto him. There was something otherworldly in those eyes, expressive yet so guarded, haunted yet so full of life, sad yet so mischievous. Merlin. There was a spark igniting up in the cage that guarded his heart spreading through his veins like wildfire. And if Robbe could see it, he knew it would be the colour of Sander’s eyes.

They were so close, so impossibly close, that if he leaned up a little their lips would brush and that thought sent another spike of heat through his gut. The world had ceased to exist, just them and the rhythm of his own beating heart. 

“-all day holding you like this, angel, but we’re blocking the traffic”, his lips were moving and he could make out the deep melodic voice washing over him and-

Angel? Angel? ** _Angel? Angel_**. Holy mother of- had Sander called _him_ an angel? Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. Fucking merlin’s balls.

Loud laughter broke Robbe out of his reverie and he was moving to scramble away from Sander, speed walking away from a cackling Lucas and a sliver prince who grinned like a wolf.

  
  
  


“Why the fuck would anyone call _him_ an angel?” 

He was far from good looking, okay maybe had a well defined bone structure and yeah he looked fit, but that was because he worked out for quidditch and really nobody would follow the exercise regime if the captain himself didn’t work himself to the bone. 

He didn't have the I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-but-I-still-look-hotter-than-you'll-ever-look look that Jens had going on for him. Didn't help with the fact that the fucker looked good in red. 

And he definitely didn't have the chic-and-sexy-but-you-can-never-get-with-me style that Moyo so effortlessly pulled off. 

His fashion choices usually varied from school robes to quidditch gear and his style usually stopped right at the rolled-out-of-bed part. He knew this, of course he knew this. His pureblooded mother, had after all tried to tame him and his hair but to her rising amusement turned horror, they were both unrestrained. 'Like my soul', he'd joked in front of Jens once and he could still vividly remember the pain in his cheek from how hard he'd pinched it, could still hear the loud cackle distinctive of his best friend, could still hear how he'd called him a baby pup, honestly, puppies were babies so really that hadn't even made any sense. 

And weren't angels supposed to look, well, _angelic?_ Or maybe Jens and Moyo were right. Sander was trying to fuck with him. Maybe he had been making a biblical reference, and Robbe had seen how horrific and grotesque angels actually looked, courtesy of his sperm donor. Yeah. That was it. Sander was calling him grotesque just like those weird angels with thousand eyes. Of course. 

"Are you going to spend an eternity there Robbe? The rest of us need to shower too!" he heard Moyo muffled shout.

He sighed and turned off the shower head.

* * *

  
He was flying lazily on his firebolt, his firebolt, a small smile made way on his face, he still couldn’t believe that Jens and Moyo were capable of giving out thoughtful gifts. And maybe he loved his broom more so because of the fact that his best mates had gifted it to him. Especially after the nightmare of a fifth year, when all three of them had been trapped in their own personal hells. Even though neither of them would ever admit to it, the teary hugs and choked apologies and the sheer relief had made their trio even stronger than before. They maybe crackheads (a muggle word totally appropriate to them, as Moyo had so graciously explained) but they loved each other. 

So much of shit to sift through and his thoughts still kept going back to that incident in the hallway. Out of all the people, he could bump in he just had to bump into that arrogant silver head. He was such an asshole, comparing him to strange creatures.

He just wished that the asshole was just a little bit ugly, it would’ve been so much easier to detest him. It wasn’t like he was Robbe’s hero or anything. And that incident had occurred almost two years ago. Robbe was long past his hero worshipping days anyways. 

“Angel!”, a loud shout and Robbe jolted out of his thoughts- was that _Sander?_ On a _broom?_

He felt his brain short circuiting. Merlin. Under the moon, Sander looked even more ethereal, with his stupidly shiny silver bleached blonde hair, and his stupidly shiny ocean eyes that glistened in the moonlight, and his stupid smirk that made him look every bit of the slytherin prince he knew he was.

“What are you doing out here?”, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Could ask you the same, _angel._ ” and there it was. That stupid petname(?). He hated how it made his insides burn, hated how his cheeks were probably blushing. Stupid silver prince and his stupid wolfish grin. 

“I thought you didn’t like flying”. To which Sander rolled his eyes “Stereotypes. Stereotypes. Stereotypes. And here I thought you’d be better than that, Robbe.” 

Fucking _hell._ That voice. Saying **_his name._** Merlin. 

“You don’t know me, Sander”. Yep, that’d do, sauve and aloof just like Jens had taught two summers ago.

They were both flying side by side and Robbe had unintentionally slowed down to match his pace with Sander.

“You do know that I can make you sit out the next match, right? You’re breaking a lot of school rules, flying out like this.” 

His eyes widened. Sander wouldn’t do that, right? And he hadn't realized that he'd said it out loud until-

“Well, I’ll let you go on one condition. Race me til the astronomy tower.”

A race? That was too easy. He narrowed his eyes, "A race? You do realise that I’m a seeker right? And I have the fastest broom. There’s no way you’ll win.” 

“Have you ever seen me fly before though? How can you be so sure that I’ll lose?” Sander smirked at him, his eyes lighting up with mischief, and Robbe? Robbe would follow him to the ends of the earth if he kept looking at him like that. A race til the astronomy tower was nothing. 

“So what are the stakes?”, he could feel the familiar rush of adrenaline bolt through his bloodstream and he felt himself streamlining with the broom, ready to shoot towards the familiar grasp of victory.

“The winner gets to ask a favour from the loser,'' he grinned, all teeth and Robbe felt a shiver run down his spine.

On a count of three the two of them were bolted through the sky, robes billowing and loud cacophonous laughter zipping through the air.

* * *

He could hear Sander shouting in utter glee from behind him, though he wasn’t as far behind as Robbe had guessed. He turned to look at Sander and he felt his heart drop right into his stomach. Sander was grinning, his eyes shining with unrestrained glee no hint of sorrow. Merlin, he was beautiful. He was beautiful.

Sander gestured towards the finishing point face twisted into a smile and Robbe turned back with a soft smile on his own face.

“I _told_ you I’d win, Sander, _I told you_ ,” he grinned, rubbing his win right into Sander’s face. 

“Yeah yeah. What do you want?,” Sander grumbled but he was grinning too much to look even slightly mad. 

He could ask for anything, he realised with a jolt. Anything and Sander would have to agree no questions asked. The Silver Prince at his mercy. Wicked. 

If Sander came to see his match, Jens and Moyo would finally get off his case and acknowledge that Robbe wasn’t wrong in judging Sander and that he truly didn’t want to cause any harm to him.

“Come see my match tomorrow,” 

“Out of all the things you could ask you choose such a simple favour.”, Sander chuckled lowly

“Fine. I’ll come see your match tomorrow and before you ask, no I won’t report you.” he smiled and shook his head lightly and  turned away from him, his broom in his hand, and begun to walk back from the balcony towards the dungeons, probably, Robbe mused. He too bent down to pick up his own firebolt but as he stood up, Sander was standing right in front of him, closer than before.

His breath hitched in his throat, heart stopping right in his chest, as Sander leaned in a small smile on his face, his eyes glistening softly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

A gasp and then a low voice was whispering,  _“Good luck, **angel**."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Comments are highly appreciated :))  
> Find me on tumblr: @feathers-n-silk


	5. And I’m Sorry For Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day." 
> 
> Sander knew what fear tasted of. It tasted of bloody mouths and yellowing teeth, it tasted of the stench of death and the wind harrowing down his ears, it tasted of the crackle of residual magic and it tasted of love in the form of billowing robes and fiery eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// graphic description of sleep paralysis.

_ “ **Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky and feel its total dark sublime.”** _

* * *

Love had a penchant for fear, if adventure fell for lost then fear followed love. It was imperative that people feared love, for love never gave a choice. Love was uncertain, love was wild, love was untameable. Humans fear the unknown, fear the lack of free will and hence humans fear love. It wasn’t a lie when the poets wrote fear was what made man humane. To conquer fear is to be brave and to love is to step into the unknown, therefore, to love is to be brave. 

Some might argue that fear was a learned emotion, so was it the same for love? Could someone learn to love? Out of fear? 

Sander knew what fear tasted of. It tasted of bloody mouths and yellowing teeth, it tasted of the stench of death and the wind harrowing down his ears, it tasted of the crackle of residual magic and it tasted of  _ love  _ in the form of billowing robes and fiery eyes.

* * *

  
  
_ The room is dark and cold. The wall touching his back is serrated. He presses himself further into the wall. It keeps him awake. _

_ He has no idea how long he’s been in that room. One hour? One day? One week?  _

_ He wants to lay down and cry, but for some reason he doesn’t. When was the last time he cried? He doesn’t remember.  _

_ He has a faint recollection of this place, of its jagged walls and low ceilings, of the cold that creeps in your bones and stays. _

_ He has a niggling feeling of familiarity running down his bloodstream and forces himself to stay more alert. _

_ There is a movement to his left and he felt a shiver of fear tickle down his spine. The room’s temperature drops another ten degrees and he feels something slide up his leg up his thigh and his heart drops right into his stomach and.. And.. _

Sander woke up with a gasp, his eyes wide, he tried to get up to shake himself from the dregs of the nightmare, but his muscles remained uncooperative. There was a heavy weight on his chest and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest, there was no sound, he couldn’t hear anything except the static. 

A scream built up in his throat, crawling towards his lips but he can’t make his lips move, not a single sound escaped him. Terror. He felt sheer unadulterated terror settle deep in his bones. The heavy leaden weight on his chest slithered up towards his neck and he found himself staring into black slitted eyes and all of a sudden his mouth dropped open, the scream that had built up in his throat finally had an outlet to escape, but, but, no sound escaped him. He was good at keeping quiet, after all.

Mellilla crawled up his neck onto his shoulders and he felt his rapid breathing slowing down, the terror subsiding bit by bit as he ran a finger down her scales. 

_“How did you know I was having a nightmare, hmm?,”_ his voice sounded scratchy from disuse and sleep. 

_“I could feel your heightened heartbeats, masssterrr,”_ and wow, that was totally not creepy at all.

He sighed and settled in for another sleepless night.

* * *

  
  


The day had started off to a bad start. Despite having stayed awake for most of the night, he had still been late for breakfast. He had wanted to see Robbe before his match, damnit. But it was either seeing Robbe and dying from a possible emotion overload or escaping Lucas, who had been mercilessly interrogating him for the past two weeks. And Sander felt a little too raw a little too jaded and a lot more tired to suffer through another investigation where all Lucas did was try to look intimidating and ask stupid questions like, did he fancy the snitch boy, _honestly, snitch boy? What sort of name was that, how unimaginative_ , to which he’d simply flipped the bird at him. 

A smile crept onto his face as he remembered Robbe’s freckled red cheeks when he had called him an angel in that hallway outside the library, and yeah maybe he'd bumped into Robbe purposely but it had been worth it. And yeah maybe one of the reasons of why he had been avoiding Lucas was because he’d been teasing Sander mercilessly, because _blocking the traffic, really Driesen? It was an empty hallway_. Merlin. He could still hear his way too loud cackle. 

He shook his head to clear himself of his humiliation. He should be concentrating on his arithmancy professor but it was hard. When all he could do was imagine how pretty Robbe’s eyes looked, how melodic his laugh was, how his eyes had gone from soft molten chocolate to burning embers the minute he’d challenged him to a race. How he’d turned to look at Sander and his grin had softened and how Sander had wanted him to look at him like that all the time, forever. He remembered how soft his cheek had felt beneath his lips even though that cheekbone could cut through glass.

He remembered his sharp inhale as he’d leant forward, how he smelled of thunder and wind but also of warmth and fresh parchment. He smelled of love and safety, and oddly enough, Sander never felt the crippling fear that accompanied love when he was near Robbe. Being in Robbe’s presence must be what being near an angel must feel like, he mused as he looked down on his parchment to at least write something down only to find that he’d sketched a pair of doe eyes that were way too familiar.

* * *

  
  
He had been on his way to the grounds after lunch, and hopefully to see Robbe before the match began when he felt his robe being grabbed from the back. In an instant his wand was out and he was pointing it towards _Lucas?_

For a split second there was a flash of fear in Lucas’ eyes and Sander hated himself a bit more. Guilt crawled up his throat, and he swiftly lowered his wand. He felt himself wordlessly following Lucas who’d turned around and was stomping away.

They made way to one of the hidden corridors on the second floor, windows overlooking the grounds. And as soon as they were away from prying eyes, Lucas was turning around and glaring at him.

“I thought you’d worked on your fight and fight impulse Sander!,” he ground out and Sander wanted the ground to swallow him up.

“I can’t help it, okay?”

“Sander! We’re safe here. You’re safe here. Nobody is out there to get you”

He felt agitation and hurt build up like a raging storm in the pit of his stomach, “Fuck off Lucas. Did someone piss in your coffee or something?”, and his defences were back up. 

“Actually, yeah. You would know if you had shown up,” merlin, now he’d made Lucas even more mad and he didn’t have the time for that right then. 

He had promised Robbe to attend the match and he would even if he had to shoot a stunning spell on Lucas to do that, he would.

“I don’t have time for this, Lucas. I have to be somewhere else right now.”

“What? You now want to go see a quidditch match?,” Lucas scoffed.

Sander simply glared at him and turned to walk away, he really couldn’t deal with Lucas’ bitchy ass when he was already on an edge from worrying over the match.

He heard Lucas stomp his foot in agony, “I made out with Jens last night”

And he was screeching to a halt. 

_“You **what**?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Please leave comments, I love reading your feedbacks.  
> Find me on tumblr: @feathers-n-silk


	6. Of Angels Without Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're officially entering the second half of the story, and I'm so sorry for taking so long for this chapter. The past few weeks have been rough and hence the chapter is short. But I'm motivated and the next chapter will be longer than the previous ones.

**_“If I'm not mistaken, then I was the last to know_ **

**_And if you return for me, I'd never want for more”_ **

* * *

He remembered when he was seven, there had been a thunderstorm, the lightning cracking down the window panes, he could hear his mother screaming in her room, the doors shutting him out. He stood there waiting for someone to open the door, but all he heard were despondent wails loud enough to make him cover his ears and hide his head between his knees. He had been curled up outside his mother’s room for the past two hours, and his mother had explained that it would hurt and that he had to be strong, strong for her, but it was hard, because he couldn’t bear the cries of his mother. 

And he found himself already hating the baby, for someone who made his mum cry like that had no right to be his sibling, he harrumphed. 

Surely he’d never caused his mum this much pain. Ever. 

He hadn’t realised that he too had been crying until Eva, the house elf, had gently wiped his tears and said that he could his sister then. 

Sander had felt an excited shiver run down his spine, which he’d tamped down hard because his sister would have to grovel a lot for him to forgive her for making his mum cry. Because despite everything, the baby was his blood, and Driesens always protected their own. Nodding to himself, he walked into his mum’s room.

His mum looked exhausted and he wanted to hug her but he didn’t want to cause her any more discomfort because unlike his sister he was a thoughtful son. So he’d climbed the bed, with no help from house elves thank you very much, well if Eva had given his bum a slight lift when his mum wasn’t looking then nobody had to know. He slowly crawled towards where his mum had been sitting at the head of the bed collapsed slightly on the pillows and held her hand with a light grip. His mum had smiled at him and he’d leaned forward to kiss her cheek. She’d patted his cheek and told him that she was fine and that he’d done a good job by holding down the fort, whatever that meant but it had made him sit up a little straighter and preen a little, which hadn’t escaped his mum’s notice as she snorted at him.

He remembered how his mother had asked him if he wanted to see his sister, and he’d nodded because surely the baby would be ugly and fat like small children tended to be, and he had been more than a little curious to see the evil gremlin who had caused so much pain to his mum. And she’d reached towards the small swaddle of blankets onto her left, and asked Sander to sit cross legged and to hold out his arms in a cradle shaped manner. Then she had gently placed the swaddle into his skinny arms and Sander had almost flinched, he had concentrated his entire energy into not dropping the baby, as he hastily followed his mum’s rapid fire instructions to hold the snivelling swaddle correctly and yup, he hated the child. But then he’d looked down at her and, wow, she was so small and chubby and tiny and cute. His entire world narrowed down to her as she opened her eyes and they were just like his, the baby, his _sister_ had _his_ eyes. 

He had smiled unconsciously at her and she had made a sound and grinned a gumless smile at him. 

“ _Astraea_ ,” his mother said, “ _What?_ ,” he looked up towards his mother’s shining eyes.

“ _Her name. Her name is Astraea._ ”

And Sander had looked back down into his sister’s, _Astraea's_ , ocean eyes and had sworn with all of the power he had that he would love and protect her with his life.

* * *

  
  
  


_“You **what**?”_ and fucking hell, his day had just gotten a thousand times more worse than it already had been. He felt like shooting _himself_ with a stunning spell. Fuck. How the fuck did Lucas manage to fuck the one thing he wasn’t supposed to fuck up?

“We were tipsy and it just kind of happened, ok? It’s not like I full on shagged him!,” he exclaimed and Sander was livid, because “You are not of age yet Lucas! What the fuck!,” and bloody hell Lucas knew that. It had been practically drilled into his head the summer he’d transferred to hogwarts. He pinched the bridge of his nose wanting nothing more than to simply collapse over dramatically like one of those mundane film heroines. 

“I am not a child Sander and I know damn well that I haven’t come of age yet. That’s why I pushed him away and left,” and he was making that face where he looked like a very sad puppy and god fucking damnit Sander had the _worst_ , the absolute worst brother in the entire fucking world.

He took in ten calming breaths and pulled Lucas into a hug. “You know that we still have to see Madam Pomfrey right? Just to make sure that nothing’s wrong,” he murmured, because despite being an insufferable dipshit Lucas was still his brother and best friend and he’d promised to take care of him. 

“That woman scares me, besides nothing is wrong. I had Lucille run some diagnostic spells on me. It’s just- just that everybody is out here shagging each other’s brains out and I can’t even kiss someone without triggering my delicate constitution,” and he couldn’t help the snort that had escaped him. Delicate constitution his ass. 

“If you’re sure,” because pushing Lucas would do no good, and he had never seen anybody more prone to magical outbursts than him.

“Do you wanna go smoke now?,” and Sander should say no because at the back of his mind there was an incessant chant of promises and Robbe and quidditch but Lucas was looking at him again with that pleading expression that Sander had never quite learned to ignore.

So he nodded and followed Lucas oblivious to the fact _that angels fell when their wings were ripped off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Feedback as always is very appreciated.  
> Find me on tumblr: @feathers-n-silk


	7. Is it the same for you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We went to Winter Wonderland  
> And it was shit but we were happy  
> I'm sorry that I'm kinda queer, it's not as weird as it appears  
> It's 'cause my body doesn't stop me  
> Oh, it's okay, lots of people think I'm gay  
> But we're friends, so it's cool, why would it not be?"
> 
> "And there is always something so tragically beautiful about falling in love with your best friend. Because even though he says you're his soulmate, you know he doesn't mean it in the way your heart does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song, "Antichrist" by The 1975 and the summary is from the, "Me and you together song" also by The 1975.

_** "And there is always something so tragically beautiful about falling in love with your best friend. Because even though he says you're his soulmate, you know he doesn't mean it in the way your heart does." ** _

* * *

It hurt. It hurt to look at him. Sometimes. Like right then, with the bonfire reaching a fever pitch, the fire casting an orange glow to his sharp cheekbones, his brown eyes glistening as he strummed on the guitar, the smile that he’d sent from across the campfire made a shiver run all the way down his stomach causing the tamed butterflies to flutter wildly, his silver earring catching the light just right, and Robbe reached for his own hoop earring, remembering the day Jens him and Moyo had all gotten one. 

Someone had gotten out an old music player and he watched as grin broke out on Jens face as the first chords of _‘Sway’_ by Dean Martin started to play. He waited for him to reach for him, to pull him into a dance, even though Robbe hated dancing, just like old times. But instead Jens was reaching for Moyo and they were breaking out into a jazz routine earning shouts of encouragement from the rest of their mates, a drunk Jana being the loudest. 

It was bitter. It was bitter the way Robbe felt jealousy curl like poisonous ivy vines around the fluttering hope that had built up in his stomach. He hated the intense envy he felt looking at his two best friends effortlessly moved around each other, hated how the one thing that Moyo and Jens had in common was also the thing that alienated him from them. 

Ever since Jens had come out as bisexual in Leaky Cauldron to them, because of course the gryffindor was the only one courageous enough to actually state it openly, his feelings had gotten out of hand. When before he felt filthy just thinking of his best friend those late nights, he felt downright sinned and dirty, because it was obvious that Jens knew that he was very decidedly not hetrosexual, despite his borderline shameful affair in fourth year with Erra Taber, and he’d never shown any interest in him. He just wished that the feelings would wither away with time, but it was hard with Jens being a tactile person. And merlin. Those little touches, when he’d ruffle his hair or those brushes in potions or those cheek pinches and that exasperated grin he always shot him when he thought Robbe accidently used clockwise stirring technique instead of anti clockwise one. He hated them. He hated that he loved them all at the same time. 

He gulped down the muggle beer that Moyo had smuggled in, the buzz hitting him harder on an empty stomach. He caught eyes with the sixth year hufflepuff he’d been casually ‘hanging out’ with and with a slight tip of his beer bottle towards him he got up to get away the horrible feeling that was bubbling like the draught of living death in his chest. 

Waiting at the edge of the forbidden forest, as the silhouette of Adrian drew closer, he could almost pretend that these clandestine wanks on the edge of the swallowing darkness of the forbidden forest was what he’d always wished for instead of lips pressing against his neck, whispered words of affection and dark hair tickling his chin.

* * *

  
  
Clement flew down the breakfast table towards him, a letter clutched in his claws. The eagle owl let out a hoot as Robbe reached to scratch his head and Yasmina reached towards the owl treats she always kept with her because Robbe was a ‘forgetful wanker’. He smiled gratefully at her and she merely rolled her eyes at him, despite the small smile on her face. And for a hundredth time Robbe felt a surge of affection for her. Morganna knew he would be nowhere without her. 

He opened the letter, hoping that it would be from his mother, but of fucking course the universe hated him, for the letter from his father. And he wanted to Incendio the fucking parchment. It was full of shite about the same old blame game, of how he’d been the one who’d made his parents split up. Yeah right. Like finding your father with his tongue shoved down a woman who was half his age was somehow his fault. Fuck. The timing of the letter couldn’t be more perfect, he grumbled under his breath, right before his fucking match. He could feel a migraine building behind his eyes, his head pounding.

“Robbe?,” Yasmina’s voice filtered through the haze that was slowly building up and he reached for her hand, suddenly being fiercely glad that he was sitting with her instead of sitting with Moyo who had the emotional quotient of a blubbering platypus. She squeezed his hand back and he could feel the touch ground him, the soft strokes of her thumb caressing his hand helping him reign in the sheer terror he was feeling at that moment.

“I’m okay,” he wheezed out, as he inhaled and exhaled ten times, just like the mundane ‘therapist’ had told him to. 

“That fucking slimy bastard!,” Yasmina gritted, because of course she had read the fucking letter. “The fucking audacity of him, how _dare_ he?”

Robbe appreciated Yasmina getting angry on his behalf but in that moment he simply wanted to crawl under his covers and never emerge. 

But he had a match and a promise to fulfil and he wasn’t about to let anybody ruin that for him.

* * *

He hadn’t spotted Sander the entire day, usually he would spot the bleached blonde roaming the hallways or in the great hall or chatting up with Senne in some random corner throughout the day, not that he went out of his way to cross paths with him but still, it was weird that he hadn’t been seen anywhere. If Lucas had been a little less scary he would’ve asked him and the scowl on the slytherin’s face had been way more vicious than usual that day so Robbe had simply given him a wide berth.

He just hoped that Sander wouldn’t back out of his promise, especially with the absolute shitty day he’d had seeing the blonde in the stands would surely boost his morale and his desire to win. He wanted to rub The SIlver Prince’s innocence in Jens’s face, because Robbe was never wrong and it was high time that the gryffindor got it through his head.

He was fastening his quidditch robes with an eagle pin, when he heard Moyo call out his name. “Are you okay? You look pale,” he was standing close to him, whispering to avoid any of their teammates overhearing. And Robbe felt only slightly guilty for calling Moyo emotionally stunted, even if it had been in his own head. He nodded out a small yes and was grabbing his firebolt, ready to walk out into the arena. “You know it's not too late to sit out this match right? You really don’t look too well,” and Robbe could hear the genuine concern in his voice but it didn’t stop the full body flinch, “I’m _fine_ , Moyo,” and he walked out before anybody else could come in and stop him from playing the damn match. He knew that he woud rather die than let anybody convince him to skip the bloody match.

  
  


The match was boring. The snitch hadn't been spotted yet. And he was flying lazily around the pitch. The tally had reached a whooping 240-200 for the ravenclaw and hufflepuff teams respectively and really he almost wished that he had listened to Moyo. And it had nothing to do with the absence of a certain slytherin from the stands. Robbe was _definitely_ not hurt. He forced himself to concentrate on the match only for his mind to wander to that morning. Fuck. He hated that man. Not only had he fucked up his mother’s life, he’d fucked up Robbe’s life too.

 _‘_ _Poor Clement’_ , he thought, _having to carry the letter from a bas_ \- Clement was supposed to be _at his mother’s place_ \- he felt a chill run down his spine. Panic building up like a raging storm, his vision blacking out, he felt the cold sweat running down the back his neck and- 

“THE SNITCH HAS BEEN SPOTTED!,” he was ripped out of the blind state of rising panic by the booming voice of the commentator. 

The match. Right. The match, he was in the middle of the match, he swivelled his head towards where the hufflepuff seeker was closing in on the snitch and took off at top speed in that direction. The rest of the world blurred away, his entire focus on the golden snitch, as if it was his salvation from the war that was waging in his head, and in a way it was, he mused just as his fist closed around the golden winged ball of victory.

Sometimes hyperfocus was a double edged sword, he thought in rising horror as a stray bludger hit his broom with full force, knocking him off the firebolt. He felt the pull of gravity, his body free falling towards the ground at a speed he wished he could replicate on his firebolt, he thought deliriously. His vision caved in as he let himself fall for wolfish grins and broken promises letting the darkness consume him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Feedback as always is highly appreciated.  
> Find me on tumblr : @feathers-n-silk

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments are highly appreciated :))  
> Find me on tumblr: @feathers-n-silk


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